


The Redemption of Crossfit Jesus

by storyranger



Series: A Boy and His (Big) Dog [2]
Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Basketball, Clubbing, Forgiveness, Friendship, Injury, Kayfabe Compliant, M/M, Pastries, Personal Growth, Piggybacks, Redemption, Vomiting, Welcome to Night Vale - Freeform, cuddle puddle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-01 05:52:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8611228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storyranger/pseuds/storyranger
Summary: Long-distance relationships are hard enough without having to keep them secret. Harder still when you’re on a different roster then all of your friends, and your boyfriend has decided to start getting chummy with your worst enemy.





	1. Push and Pull

**Author's Note:**

> A little series of moments in the run-up to Survivor Series 2016. Makes more sense if you read "The Wisest Course of Action" first. Part 1 is kayfabe compliant as of the night it was posted (Nov 20 2016). Depending on the bookings for tonight the conclusion may end up being AU.  
> [Edited to add: Survivor Series managed to not sink my ship, so we're kayfabe compliant all the way through.]

It had been a weird couple of months for Dean Ambrose. He’d won a title, figured out he was gay, lost his title via dick kick, and then his best friend became his boyfriend. Oh, and also his worst enemy was fighting his second worst enemy and he didn’t really know how to react to any of this stuff. At least Halloween candy was 50% off tomorrow.

Dean was trying really hard to not get pissed off about how much time Roman seemed to be spending with Seth these days. Especially after watching tonight’s episode of _Raw_. He’d turned it on to see how Enzo did in his street fight; Enzo may talk more than Dean was entirely comfortable with, but he mattered to Cass, and Cass was a friend. (Well, had been; they’d only just gotten comfortable with each other before the brand split. Were they still friends now? Dean wasn’t sure how that worked.) After Enzo won his match Dean hadn’t bothered changing the channel, leaving it on in the background while he did other stuff, and that’s how he ended up watching as Kevin Owens jumped Roman and Seth Rollins ran into the ring to deliver a beat-down to both Owens and Jericho.

“It wasn’t exactly my idea that he come tearing down there to try and help me,” Roman pointed out, for the fourth time. They were Skyping, an almost nightly ritual these days. Dean had initially been skeptical about it but had quickly grown to _need_ that contact as the separate brand schedules kept the two of them apart for weeks at a time. Roman was lying on his bed in a hotel in Hartford, recovering from his matches that night, and Dean was sitting at a desk in Newark, trying to add up how much he owed in speeding tickets this month while a hockey game blared in the background.

“You can’t trust him, Roman. Lulling you into a false sense of security. He’s got something up his sleeve, ya hear?” Dean raked a hand through his hair, abandoning the math for now and flopping down on his bed.

“I dunno, Dean. It seems like he’s really trying to change. Maybe busting his knee made him rethink some things. I know you don’t want to hear this, but I think he might actually be sorry.”

Dean’s voice became dangerous. “Rats can’t change, Ro. Especially not rats like Seth fucking Rollins.”

“Look, I’m not asking you to be friends with him, am I?” asked Roman, exasperated.

“But you want to start hanging out with him again, right? That’s what this is all about.”

“I didn’t say that! Dean, listen to me: I’m sick of being angry, okay? I’m so sick of carrying around this ball of hate inside me. I… I just … I want my brothers back.”

Dean’s heart contracted in on itself. He and Roman may have been dancing around the subject since they got together, but there was no denying they both still missed the old days of The Shield. He didn’t expect Roman to actually say it out loud, though. His mind started buzzing, and he scratched at the back of his neck in an effort to quiet it.

The silence was starting to unsettle Roman, so he broke it. “Dean, what’s going on in that head of yours?”

“Your brother’s right here, Roman. Is one brother not enough for you? Because it sure as hell has to be good enough for me.”

Roman’s voice softened as he picked up the pain in Dean’s voice. “Dean, babe, I know the split’s been hard on you. Me and Sami and Cassady all going to _Raw_ and you having to start over making friends on the _Smackdown_ roster wasn’t fair. Cass misses you, by the way. He didn’t say it, but Enzo was working out next to me yesterday and it was somewhere in the babble. I know it’s not easy for you to let people get close, but I wish you weren’t alone out there.”

“I’m not alone. Dolph’s a good guy and Corbin’s starting to loosen up. He talks to me, now, at least.”

“I won’t lie, I’m surprised Corbin talks to anyone.”

“Me too.”

“Look, I promise. I’ll ignore Seth as much as humanly possible. What if I drive down and visit on Thursday?”

“You sure you have time?”

“Yeah. Who else is gonna help you get those speeding tickets dealt with?”

“I miss you, Ro.”

“Miss you too, Dean.”

 

***

 

“I’m really glad you let us tag along, it’s been a while since we’ve gone anywhere on our days off. Usually we just play basketball and shit. Road trips are way more fun. We just never have anywhere to go. Hey, do you mind if I change the radio station?” Enzo took a breath, after a solid three minutes of talking. Not that anyone was counting the time between his breaths or anything.

“Yeah, go for it,” Roman said, hoping it meant he would shut up for a little bit. He hadn’t planned to invite Enzo along on this trip, but when Cass had quietly asked if they could bring him too he found he couldn’t say no. This had started as a surprise for Dean, bringing along a few friends to help cheer him up, but Roman was starting to regret what had possessed him to attempt a big gesture.

In the passenger seat next to him, Sami rolled his eyes as the strains of some obscure hip-hop group began issuing from the radio. Enzo promptly began singing along. Cass looked at Roman apologetically from backseat, all seven feet of him awkwardly folded in next to his tag team partner. Zayn had offered him the front seat, but he’d insisted. Roman shrugged back at Cass, which seemed to reassure him enough to pull out a book and start reading. Zayn pulled out his phone and opened a brightly coloured app.

“Zayn, is that Candy Crush?”

“Shut the fuck up, Reigns, it’s got nice colours. Anyways it was Ambrose who got me hooked. Mock him, not me.”

“Why am I not surprised?” chuckled Roman.

Eventually Enzo’s chatter faded into background noise as the miles passed under their tires and Roman lost himself in the rhythm of the road.

 

Roman shouldn’t have been nervous about how Dean would react to the extra people. He was happy to see all of them, even if it meant less alone time with Roman. They’d rented two rooms near where the _Smackdown_ roster was staying, and Dean nonchalantly proposed he bunk with Roman at their hotel while they were in town as if this was a new idea he’d just come up with and not his and Roman’s original plan all along. Sami thankfully picked Enzo and Cass as roommates over them, so they were left alone for at least a few moments when they got through check in and upstairs to their rooms.

Roman stashed his bag and checked his phone.

“Hey, everyone else is ready for dinner, so we should probably-” Dean cut him off by pinning him against the wall with an aggressive kiss. Hands roamed everywhere and both men were panting by the time they broke away.

“I mean, it would be rude to keep them waiting too much longer.”

“I’ve never been one for manners,” said Dean, running his thumb along the waistband of Roman’s jeans.

“I know, but I am,” Roman pointed out, gently brushing his hand away. “Come on. Plenty of time to catch up after we eat.”

 

Dinner turned into drinks which turned into an expedition to a local club, because Enzo and Sami wanted to dance and nobody had a concrete alternative to offer. They were dressed as anonymously as possible, and it’s not like they were likely to be recognised in this dingy club they’d chosen at random. Still, Dean was on edge, and he’d spent the last hour sitting in a corner booth and drumming nervous patterns into the table. He had to admit, it wasn’t completely horrible. He like watching Roman dance; how anyone that muscular could move that fluidly stopped just short of miraculous.

Speaking of miracles, it turns out there was a way to shut Enzo up, and unsurprisingly Cass was the one who accomplished it. The surprising part was it involved a very, very plastered Cass cutting Enzo off in one of his monologues with an extremely sloppy kiss. Enzo sheepishly tried to remind Cass they were in public before shrugging and reciprocating enthusiastically.

Roman turned to Sami with a raised eyebrow.

“How long has _that_ been a thing?”

Sami rolled his eyes at him before replying, “your guess is as good as mine. Could be last week, could be since they got paired in NXT. Certainly don’t think they’re publicizing it, whatever _it_ is.”

“They may wanna cut that shit out for now, then,” Dean said warily. “This club may be in the middle of nowhere, but you never know who’s taking pictures with these fucking strobe lights everywhere.” Dean had his hood pulled up over his head and his hands stuffed grumpily into the pockets of his jeans, legs spread wide as he slouched in his seat in the booth.

“Someone’s paranoid, or jealous. Or both,” whispered Roman, low enough that only Dean could hear. Dean blushed. Roman continued, at normal volume, “Should we head out? It’s been a few hours, and Dean’s clearly bored.”

“This is a mission to cheer a G up, and if that G stands for “grump”, we have failed the mission,” declared Enzo, still tangled in Cass’s irrationally long arms.

“It’s just a little loud,” mumbled Dean, embarrassed. “But you fuckers were fun to watch out there.”

“Who’s in for room service and a movie?” asked Sami, pulling his coat on and helping Enzo pull Cass to his feet. Cass took a few weaving steps, Enzo failing dismally to assist him.

“Only if there’s explosions,” stipulated Dean, tossing an arm around Cass to steady him and leading the crew towards the exit.

They ended up ordering pizza to the larger room. Cass had flopped onto one bed, dragging Enzo possessively down with him, and Dean and Roman and Sami were piled onto the other. Cass threw up and passed out across Enzo’s lap 15 minutes into the movie, Enzo clucking and holding his hair back for him all the while. Around the halfway mark, Roman’s hand found its way into Dean’s and stayed there.

If Sami noticed a thing, he kept it to himself.

 

“Cass is gonna have one hell of a hangover,” chuckled Dean, curled against Roman in the small hours of the morning. Roman laughed, shifting so he could nuzzle his nose against the back of Dean’s neck.

“Do you think we could ever be like that?” asked Roman, quietly.

“Drunk off our asses, or making out in public?”

“Just… affectionate. When other people are around.”

“I dunno. I guess I’ve never really been one for PDA, you know? And you tell one person, they tell another, and pretty soon the whole locker room knows what you ate for breakfast last Tuesday.”

“You know when I said you were paranoid earlier, I meant it as a joke.”

“Ro, I’m paranoid as shit. Have been since I was little. Side effect of the upbringing.”

Roman grunted and moved his arm possessively around Dean’s waist.

“This is really bothering you, isn’t it?” realized Dean.

 “I’m all for being discrete, but sometimes a guy just wants to hold his sweetheart’s hand. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m pretty damn excited to be fucking the once and future heavyweight champion.”

Dean blushed violently.

“Do you trust those three to keep a secret?”

“You know Sami better than I do. But clearly Enzo and Cass trust _us_ ,” Roman pointed out.

“If they tell anyone, I swear to god they’ll never walk again.”

“How about we discuss appropriate consequences if and when shit happens?”

“Killjoy”

 “Hothead. C’mere,” breathed Roman, drawing him in for a kiss.

 

They didn’t exactly _say_ anything, but when they slid into the diner booth in the morning next to the sunglass-clad Cass and let their intertwined fingers rest on the table as they poured over the breakfast menu, Enzo’s raised eyebrow and Sami’s low mutter of “fuck, fifth fucking wheel” signaled the message had been received loud and clear.

 

***

 

Roman had fully intended to keep ignoring Seth. Which was totally why he’d followed him out to the back alley of the gym the _Raw_ crew had been sparring in when Seth had told him they needed to talk.

“What the fuck is this about, Rollins?”

“Look. You don’t like me, and I clearly don’t want to work with you, but tomorrow they’re announcing me as the fifth member of Team Raw. We’re stuck together for Survivor Series, so we’re going to hash this out here and now.”

“Oh, so that’s how it’s gonna be? You lure me out here and we talk things over and everything’s sunshine and roses?

“Clearly you have some stuff to get off your chest, so have at it.” Seth spread his arms, a clear challenge.

“Okay, I’ll bite. I’ve got one question for you.” Roman said, closing the space between them. He drew himself up to his full height, tattoo displayed menacingly.

“Ask away.” Seth grinned up at him, baring his teeth.

“Why’d you do it Seth? You could have just said you wanted out. You didn’t need to wreck Dean like that.”

Seth smirked. “I told you, it was just business.”

“Bullshit. If it was just business you would have hit me and let Orton do the rest. We were on top of the world, Seth. Why’d you throw it all away when everyone was finally behind us?”

“Because they WEREN’T behind ME. THEY WERE BEHIND _YOU_!” screamed Seth, his apathetic façade crumbling. “They cared about you, because you were powerful, and they cared about Dean, because he was funny, and no one cared about the guy who made the plans. No one gave a damn about me. No one except Hunter. Right up until I got injured.”

“That’s not true. Even after what you did, when your knee blew _everyone_ was worried about you.” ‘ _Well, everyone but Dean’_ Roman thought, but he kept that bit to himself.

“Cool. The only time anyone cares is when I get injured. Too little too fucking late.”

 _“We_ cared about you. Why was that not enough?”

“I don’t know. _I don’t know_.” Seth looked defeated.

“Was it worth it, Seth? Was throwing us away for The Authority worth it to you?” Roman’s tone was vicious.

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK, ROMAN? Every promo, every match, everything I did to you guys after I broke us, I was trying to convince myself that this was worth it, and it wasn’t. It wasn’t. Do you think I haven’t spent every second after Hunter turned on me regretting everything?”

“Look, even if I believed that, and I don’t, you think that’s good enough? You can just waltz in and say sorry and we go back to being a team? After two years.” Roman turned away from him and started walking back towards the side door.

“Roman, wait-”

“Two years. Do you have any idea what you leaving did to us? I had to fill the hole that The Shield left, and the WWE Universe ended up hating me for it. I’m lucky Dean’s still alive, let alone mostly sane! I was so scared I was going to lose him too.”

“What do I have to do to fix this?”

Roman turned around and smacked him so hard across the face that Seth fell on his ass. He looked up at Roman, slightly dazed, and swiped at his nose. A trickle of blood was dripping out of his nose, and his split lip was already starting to swell.

Roman bent towards him and stuck out his hand. “Up you get,” he said, and Seth took his arm and pulled himself to his feet. Neither made any move to let go of the other.

“Gonna need some ice for that,” Roman said, finally. Seth exhaled loudly and sprang forward, crushing Roman into a hug.

“I’m so, so sorry,” Seth whispered.

“I know, buddy. I know.”

 

“So what happens now?” Seth asked a few hours later, as they perched on the fire escape outside their hotel. They were each nursing a beer, and Seth was gingerly holding a bag of ice to his face.

“You were the one who dragged me out to the alley. What did you want to happen?”

“Honestly? I really _was_ just thinking about how the fuck we were going to get along at Survivor series. Until today I never really thought I’d get a chance to apologize, so I hadn’t thought through the rest.”

Roman laughed and then grew quiet.

“What’s on your mind, Big Dog?”

Roman leaned back against the wall with a heavy sigh.

“Nothing, really. Just… I’m not sure Dean’s going to forgive me for talking to you.”

“Well. I did curbstomp him through a pile of cinderblocks and then mock his entire career.”

“Seth-”

“No. I did that stuff. Just because I regret it now doesn’t change the fact that I did it.”

“You always were one for the gritty realisim.”

“Look, Dean’s probably right. I don’t deserve to be friends with you again. And if us talking is going to hurt your friendship with Dean, then we can pretend this conversation never happened and go back to ignoring each other.”

“No. We’re teammates now. Sooner or later we were going to have to talk anyways. And I was tired of being angry at you, Seth.”

“What are you going to tell him?”

“I’m not sure yet.”  
Seth let the silence stretch for a while as he worked out how to phrase his next question.

“Roman, how bad did he go off the deep end when I left?”

“… there were a few times he disappeared and I really didn’t think he was coming back.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You said that already.”

“I know. I promise, I never in a million years meant to destabilize him like that.”

“What’s done is done, Seth. All we get to control is what we do here and now. And right now, I want to sit out here and drink and catch up with my lost brother.”

“Okay.”

“First thing I wanna know is how the fuck you came back from that injury so goddamn fast.”

“Let me tell you, Big Dog: spite is a powerful motivator.”

They talked for hours, the two years of strife and tension falling away like an open wound closing over. The scar was still there, a permanent reminder of what once was broken, but the pain was almost gone.

 

***

 

“We’re completely and totally fucked,” declared Seth, kicking his duffel bag in frustration. The announcement that he was joining the men’s team had gone over like a lead balloon in the locker room, no matter how well received by the crowd. The last match of the night did little to improve team spirit.

“It’s not looking good,” agreed Roman. There was no point hiding his frustration. His exasperated reaction to Owens pinning “his best friend” Jericho had been broadcast to the world on a 60-foot TitanTron tonight; there were already dozens of .gifs circulating on the web. Dean had even texted him one, captioned “worried your team sucks, babe? ;) ”

“Who the fuck thought Sparkle Crotch as a captain was a good idea?” Seth continued, his rant picking up steam. Roman let him vent, caught up in his own thoughts as he tried to decide how exactly he was going to handle the topic of Rollins with Dean when he called tonight.

Nothing got under Roman’s skin worse than a liar. And yet here he was, seriously contemplating becoming one. It wasn’t that he was scared of Dean’s reaction. It was more that he already knew it wasn’t going to be great and while he was prepared for Dean to be angry, he wasn’t quite prepared for the alterative, for Dean to withdraw and let this eat at him while Roman had to helplessly watch. Lying wouldn’t prevent this, because Dean _was_ going to find out in the end. Roman couldn’t sustain lies; he wasn’t built for it. All lying would do was buy him a bit more time before the inevitable. But goddamnit, how he wanted that extra time.

In the end, Dean didn’t ask, and Roman didn’t bring it up. He hadn’t lied, but after the video chat faded to black, he also didn’t sleep that night.

 

***

 

It occurred to Dean the next night that Baron Corbin was about as lucky as you can get for a guy who just slipped off the stage and injured his knee. No permanent damage, as far as the medical team could tell. But it probably hurt like a bitch, and he’d need to stay off it for at least a couple weeks, and that meant he was off the Survivor Series team.

Dean wandered up to him as the medics were handing him crutches and smacked him gently on the shoulder. There’s not much you can really say to someone who’s just been invalided out of a great career opportunity, so instead Dean asked, “want a lift?”

Baron grunted and hobbled after Dean.

After they’d been driving for a little while, Dean turned down the radio a notch and asked, “do you wanna talk about it?” _Apparently Roman is influencing me more than I thought._

“Nope.”

“Do you want me to drive you by a liquor store so you can drink about it?”

“Yep.”

 

Two bottles of cheap rum later, Baron was wasted enough for one of those 3:00am conversations you never forget. Apparently Dean wasn’t the only paranoid one on the roster: there was a reason Baron was The Lone Wolf, and it wasn’t just an entrance gimmick. He’d been through some fucked up shit to make it to the main roster. Dean didn’t spill all the gory details of his own complicated past, but managed to admit there was a time when he was substantially more unstable then he was right now, and maybe don’t use the words “crazy” and “lunatic” if they were gonna hang out more.

 “Okay, man, not going to lie, you’re probably going to have to re-tell me that when I’m sober” slurred Baron, tripping over his own feet as he tried to get into bed.

“So are we like, friends now?” joked Dean, hauling Baron to his feet and helping him get his boots off before he tried to sleep in them.

“Yes. Friends. No telling others. Ruin my reputation.” Baron insisted, trying to look straight into Dean’s eyes but ending up aiming somewhere around his right ear.

“Aaaaaaaaand we’re forcing some water into you,” declared Dean, switching to responsible mode and heading to the bathroom.

 

***

 

Whoever said basketball wasn’t all about height had clearly never met Colin Cassady.

Okay, yes, he had college experience. But Roman was fairly certain he could practise till he had the ball handling skills to be in the NBA and he still wouldn’t be able to get a shot in around the towering man. He was a defensive machine, and if he got around you the ball was going in the net; he could slam dunk like he was reaching up to change a lightbulb.

Still, it was a fun change of pace from weights and sparring, which was really all Roman ever did during time offs these days. Sami insisted after 5 minutes of them getting slaughtered by Enzo and Cass that they remix the teams, and Sami and Enzo were now employing the unusual strategy of launching each other in midair to try and make shots over Cass. It worked about 50% of the time; the other 50% ended with them simply being snatched out of the air by the taller men. Cass insisted on another rebalance after 15 minutes of this nonsense, and the new configurations were balanced enough that they played for a few hours before abandoning the game for food. (Cass and Sami won.)

“Shane taking over for Corbin on the men’s team: smart or stupid?” asked Sami.

“You ask me, it should have been Daniel Bryant,” declared Enzo, adamantly.

“Zo, you know he can’t wrestle,” Cass pointed out.

“Yeah, but that’s shit. He should be able to. Fucking shame.”

“Fair,” agreed Roman, “but it’s the risk we all take when we sign that contract. I think it’s good, that Shane’s willing to stand with his wrestlers. Not asking them anything he wouldn’t ask of himself.”

“Geez, Roman, we should change your nickname to Captain American Samoa because that is some grade-A heroic nonsense.”

“Pretty sure that counts as copywrite infringement, Zayn,” Enzo piped up.

“Um, I think it would fall under fair use… because it’s a clear parody,” offered Cass shyly. He surprised them with a lecture on the American copywriter system and its many flaws that managed to entertain them through lunch.

“So who’s up for getting drunk and watching children’s cartoons?” suggested Enzo as they paid the tab.

“As long as it’s anything but fucking Caillou,” stipulated Zayn.

Turns out _The Magic School Bus_ is even more fun when the alcohol suspends your disbelief for you.

 

***

 

 _“And you have no idea what Roman and I are capable of when we’re on the same page_.”

 

A week. That was how long Roman got in the end, to figure out how to tell Dean about Seth when his repaired friendship with the latter was still so fragile.

Seth may have been directing his comments about capabilities at AJ, but Dean heard the blood roar in his ears as he felt himself boil over. All he wanted to do was break that smug asshole’s face. But Roman was here, nodding along like he _agreed_ with Seth, and fuck that _hurt_ but Roman needed an ally on that godforsaken _Raw_ team. So he swung at Jericho instead and decided to take his chances in the brawl he knew would follow.

Roman wasn’t sure what he was thinking when he signaled to Seth to help him, but the  uncontrolled joy from Seth as he hoisted the bastard up for Roman to toss out of the ring was infectious. Besides, it was high time Roman showed AJ just what he thought of him being champ instead of Dean.

It would have been better if Dean hadn’t been the one AJ landed on, but you can’t win them all. Hopefully Dean wouldn’t have a fit that they’d used an old Shield Strategy.

Who was he kidding? Dean was definitely going to have a fit about them using an old Shield strategy.

 

“Sure you don’t want to drive with your new best friend? You know, since you two are such great teammates now?”

“Missed you too, babe,” Roman deadpanned, slipping the key into the ignition and starting up the car. He’d known the Smackdown crew were passing through town when Shane came to have the meeting with Steph, which was why he suggested carpooling in the first place; he just hadn’t realised they’d be invading the ring. He was starting to wonder if it had been a mistake.

“I thought you were ignoring him.”

“I was.”

“So what changed? What exactly happened to makes things go from ignoring the motherfucker to The Second Coming of The Fucking Shield?”

“Dean, please, I don’t want to do this tonight.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because in case you hadn’t noticed, I got the _honour_ of partnering with my idiot of a team captain tonight and got the shit kicked out of me by Cesaro for my trouble.”

“Ro, I-”

“Oh, and then my boyfriend decided to visit and start a brawl, so I got pounded by Bray Wyatt, too. And so for one night, for one fucking night, I’d like to go to sleep without worrying whether my _lunatic_ of a partner will still be there when I wake up in the morning!” He regretted his choice of words as soon as they left his mouth, but he’d be hard pressed to deny the sentiment behind them.

“Wow.” Dean was staring pointedly out the side window. Roman took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down.

“Dean, I’m sorry. That was harsh. I’m tired, and my mind and my body feel torn in half right now.”

“I knew this was too good to last.”

“Dean. I mean it. I’m sorry.”

“Fucking headcase like me doesn’t deserve a guy like you.”  
Roman pulled over smoothly and turned off the engine, shifting in his seat so he was facing Dean.

“Dean, look at me. Please?”

Dean finally turned his head towards him. Roman took Dean’s face in his hands and pressed their foreheads together.

“You listen to me, _uce_. No matter how crowded it gets in your head, you are worth this.”

“I don’t want you worrying about me.”

“Tough shit. I love you. I’m going to worry about you. Get over it.”

“Ro-”

“Dean. Listen. This isn’t your fault. I knew you were uncomfortable with me talking to Seth, and I did it anyways. And I didn’t tell you because I was scared it would hurt you, and then I lost my temper and hurt you anyways. This isn’t on you, okay? None of this is on you. I fucked up, and if you want to talk about Seth tonight we can but I think this might go better when I’ve had at least an hour of sleep.”

“Can I drive, then?” Dean asked quietly.

Roman sighed, then kissed Dean’s forehead and unbuckled his seatbelt.

“You can drive,” he agreed.

 

Two hours in to the drive, Dean’s knee started to cramp and he felt drowsier then was probably safe. Roman had fallen asleep an hour back and Dean was not going to wake him, so he pulled over and shut off the engine. He reclined his seat and set an alarm on his phone for an hour. He didn’t bank on the alarm waking them both up.

Whoops.

“Why are we stopped? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. Everything’s good. I just needed a break is all.”

“Do you need me to take over again?”

“Nah, brother. I’ve got this. Just needed a little nap.”

“Okay.” Roman stretched, straightening up and putting a gentle hand on Dean’s knee. “Do you wanna talk about it now?”                 

Dean started up the car again. “Yeah.”

“He came to me the day before the Survivor Series team was announced. Wanted to hash out a truce. I lost it on him and he ended up apologizing. For everything.”

“So that’s just _it_? He apologizes and everything’s fine again.”

“Dean, you don’t have to believe that he’s changed, and you sure as hell don’t need to start talking to him again. But I believe him, and I think I need you to respect that I’m going to keep talking to him for now.”

“Why’d he do it?” Dean asked, afraid of the answer.

“Because he felt ignored, and Hunter promised him attention.”

Dean fell silent, gnawing his bottom lip. Roman didn’t dare press him.

“That’s so… reasonable,” he declared, finally.

“I know. I still split his lip over it though.”

“Atta boy.”

They sat in silence for a while, wrapped up in their thoughts.

“I don’t know if it makes a difference, but he really doesn’t want to hurt you any more then he already has. He offered to stop talking to me if it bothers you.”

“He said that?”

“Yeah.”

“What did you say?”

“I said whether we talked or not was between him and me.”

“Yeah.”

“You okay babe?”

“Not really. I feel… angry. I don’t know who I’m angry at. I’m just angry.”

“Valid.”

“You didn’t tell him about us, did you?”

“No. But I think he might end up guessing it. I ripped on him pretty hard for how hard he fucked you up.”

“You always were too damn maternal.”

“Shut up, you enjoy it.”

“Never said otherwise. What the fuck are you doing with my phone?” Dean glanced over, swerving a little as his eyes strayed from the road.

“Fucking Christ _uce_ , your driving scares me sometimes.” Roman hit “save” on the new contact he’d added, then slipped the phone back into the pocket he’d pilfered it from. “You ever do want to contact him, alone or with me as a mediator, that’s your decision now. He doesn’t have your number, and he’s not getting it from me.”

 

When Dean went to delete the number from his contacts before they tumbled into bed, there was no new entry under “S” or “R”. By the time he woke up in the morning and found the number belonging to a “Crossfit Jesus”, he’d cooled off enough to let it stay, just for now.


	2. Guillotine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-Survivor Series 2016, the boys have some shit to work through. Spoilers up to and including the Nov 28/16 episode of Raw. Miraculously still kayfabe-compliant.

“It’s just for one hour.”

“I know.”

“You don’t even have to talk to him.”

“I know.”

“I’ll be there and we can leave right after if you want.”

“I _know_.”

“You can do this, Dean. You can survive being on a team with A.J.”

“Don’t want to.”

“I know. Suck it up, babe. I have to work with Sparkle Crotch.”

“I hate it when you’re right.”

“See you Sunday, okay? Oh, and Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t forget your passport.”

 

***

 

Dean had gone into the 5-on-5 men’s match prepared to help A.J. He was still pissed off, but  he’d psyched himself up to do it. He could beat A.J. to a pulp _after_ Survivor Series.

He’d expected the same of A.J., and apparently that had been a mistake.

As he fumed in the locker room, watching the Raw team tear itself apart in turn, he realised he was rooting for Roman and Seth. Why the fuck should he care about Team Smackdown, when none of them gave a damn about him? A.J., scumbag who cheated for titles and hit his teammates from behind; Shane, who’d ignored him and got them in this mess; Wyatt, the cult leader who clearly only cared about himself; Wyatt’s weird new viper Padawan. These were the people he was supposed to cheer?

Fuck that.

It was time to take his fate into his own hands.

He didn’t expect quite so many security guards to greet him when he burst back into the arena, and his chest ached where Stroman had blasted into him, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him. It was a relief, though, when Rollins and Reigns started hurling security guards off him like they were ragdolls.

“You shouldn’t be out here trying to help us, _uce_! You’re gonna get yourself fired!” hissed Roman.

“I’m not here for you,” Dean snarled back, attention fixed on A.J.

“Hey,” Seth barked, coming up behind Roman and shoving Dean, “are you two just going to bicker, or are we going to fuck A.J. up already?”

Dean glared at Seth, then swallowed whatever spite-filled remark he was going to continue with and spat “get him up.”

Seth didn’t have to be told twice. Roman started tossing guards out of the way so they couldn’t interfere, as Seth dragged A.J. to his feet, Dean helping to keep A.J. restrained.

 

It hit Dean like a freight train, that this was real, he was standing shoulder to shoulder with Seth, hoisting up their foe so Roman could smash him to the ground, and _this is so wrong, so so wrong, we aren’t a team, not anymore,_ but it felt like coming home. It felt right. He felt whole.

_Damnit._

A.J. hadn’t even hit the table before Dean knew there was a phone number he was going to be using, after all.

 

***

 

Seth had taken the spot on the Raw team expecting it to be a shitshow, expecting everyone to hate him, not caring who won, willing to put up with all of it for the future opportunity Stephanie offered in return. Now, standing with Roman against the four Smackdown men, he realised he did care about winning, if it meant winning with Roman.

Roman shot him a quick look, sizing him up. “Think we still have a shot?”

“You bet your ass.”

“Okay,” said Roman, nodding, “then let’s do this.”

They were outnumbered but not outclassed. Still, it looked bleak, as the grueling fight dragged on and on. The Smackdown team made tag after tag to keep themselves fresh and Seth felt his energy reserves draining. When he and Roman both went down outside the ring, he thought it was over.

Then Dean came tearing down the ramp, pounding on A.J., giving him and Roman enough time to haul themselves to their feet.

He’d fought Dean as hard as any of the other Smackdown guys in the ring tonight, because he knew Dean would notice if he held back, because he knew how much that would infuriate him. As much as he hated to admit it sometimes, Dean was good, and the edge that Seth had over him in terms of skill was often neutralized by how easily Dean could anticipate his tactics.

As he watched Dean and Roman bicker, the last puzzle piece slipped into place and he finally got why Roman had been so angry on Dean’s behalf when he’d come at Seth in the alley last week.

Those two were in love.

Huh.

Well, now was definitely not the right time for them to be having a spat. Apparently his days as a mediator weren’t over.

“Hey,” he asked, shoving Dean roughly, “are you two just going to bicker, or are we going to fuck A.J. up already?”

Dean gave him a murderous look, and then the shadow seemed to lift from his face. “Get him up,” he ordered, and Seth wasted no time. It was like nothing had happened; they moved in sync, their muscle memory stronger than time and resentment and feelings.

 

As he rolled A.J. up for a pin, he stopped caring about the win tonight. There was a much bigger win he wanted, and suddenly there was hope that he had a shot.

 

***

 

“And then Mick said I was banned from ringside for the main event, so I figured I may as well head out.” Roman had his phone hooked up to Bluetooth, rambling to Dean as he drove the winding, empty stretch of Ontarian highway to the next hotel.

“Mhm.” Dean’s mind was clearly elsewhere. Roman could hear a TV in the background, with what sounded like a hockey game on.

“Whatever. Seth will be fine by himself. Jericho's banned tonight too.”

“Mhm.”

“Does it bother you if I talk about him? I don’t have to.”

“Nah, it’s fine. He’s your friend. You’re fucking coworkers. It’d be weird for you to pretend you don’t see him. I let you talk about Sami, don’t I?”

“Sami’s your friend, too”

“Mhm. Well. It’s fine.”

There was silence on the line, then muffled cursing.

“Dean?”

“Fucking Christ, he’s not-”

“Dean? Your team lose the puck again or something?”

“He’s not going to… holy fuck.”

“Dean?”

“Rollins just climbed the arena gate and jumped off onto Owens.”

“Are you… watching Raw?” Roman sounded baffled.

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

“Fuck.”

“Dean?”

“Jericho just showed up.”

“But he’s banned from… shit.”

“Seth put Owens through two chairs, and a table, and he jumped off the goddamned gate for Christ’s sake. That should be Seth's title.”

“Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?” Roman was only half-joking.

“Fuck off. Just because I still want to break his face doesn’t mean he deserves _this_.”

“No. No, he doesn’t deserve this.”

“Ro?”

“Yeah?”

“I think I want to forgive him. And just the thought of it makes me sick. That I’m _that_ weak.”

“Forgiveness isn’t really about the other guy.”

“Huh?”

“It’s about you deciding you don’t want the past to control you anymore. It’s not weakness. At least, I don’t think I was weak to do it.”

“That’s not what I meant, Ro.”

“Right, because it’s fine if I do it, but you’re not allowed to.”

“Sounds a lot stupider when you say it out loud.”

“You gotta stop being so hard on yourself, Dean.”

“And you gotta stop with all the shrink talk. It’s creepy.”

“It’s true.”

“Never said it wasn’t.”

“You worried about tomorrow?”

“Not really. We won, didn’t we? Shane and Bryant are gonna do what they’re gonna do.”

“Rub it in babe, rub it in.”

“We gonna do some dumb tourist shit or something while we’re in Canada?”

“Just you wait. Sami has a fucking _itinerary_.”

“Drive safe, Ro.”

“Sleep well, Dean.”

 

Before he fell asleep, Dean flipped though his contacts to “Crossfit Jesus” and sent a three word text he still didn’t know if he’d regret in the morning.

**_ambrose: can we talk_ **

 

***

 

“Go home, Dean.”

“C’mon Elise, I brought you a fritter,” pleaded Dean.

“And I still haven’t eaten the last one. I may be wearing men’s pants right now, but I don’t have _that_ many extra pockets.” Elise stood blocking the door, arms crossed.

“Please?” asked Dean, eyes alight with mischief.

“Fine. But, you have to at _least_ change out of this ridiculous Mountie costume. Go find something to blend in with. Super finds out you got in through my door twice in one night, my head’s on the chopping block.”

When Dean came back ten minutes later sporting an Ottawa Sens jersey, Elise still wouldn’t let him in.

“Dean, half an hour, at least. Anything sooner is way too suspicious.”

Dean sighed, then slide down against the wall to sit across from Elise.

“May as well settle in then.” He took a bite of the second fritter. Elise rolled her eyes at him, pulling out the original bribe and beginning to pick off chunks expertly.

“So what’s your story?” asked Dean, suddenly.

“Huh?”

“Don’t see too many chicks doing security. How’d you end up here?”

“Not much of a story, really. Tried to make it on stage, didn’t have the “look”. Tried engineering for a while, but it was boring as hell. Applied to work for the student union, got assigned to the pub, but I wasn’t “smiley” enough to be a waitress. And the hair freaks some people out,” she added, running a rueful hand through the shaved section.

“So they put you as a bouncer?” asked Dean, incredulous.

“And I _loved_ it. They paid all my license fees till I graduated, too. It’s hard to get firms to take me seriously, but a pair of combat boots and some cursing goes a helluva long way.”

Dean chewed the last of the fritter thoughtfully. Something clicked for him about why she would risk her hard-won job to take bribes from the Shield.

“You ever miss being on stage?”

“Every goddamn day. You got no idea how jealous I am of you boys.”

There was a long silence. Finally, Elise checked inside the door again.

“Okay, I’ll let you in now. Remember, I never saw you.”

“You’re a star, Elise.” Dean flashed an impish grin at her.

“Yeah, yeah, you owe me one. I swear, I’m raising my prices after this!”

 

***

 

Dean woke up the next morning, a little sore, miraculously _not_ fired, and with his phone flashing. Three missed alarms and a new text.

****

**_crossfit jesus: yeah. Sounds good. Where and when?_ **

 

Three hours later, he was slumped on a park bench near the water, desperately wishing he’d worn a few more layers under his jacket and hoodie. He’d picked a trail by the water at random (god, this weird-ass city was full of them), hoping the open air would help him stay calm. If he lost it on Seth, he wanted it to be intentional.

“Hey, sorry I’m late.” Dean’s head snapped upwards, watching as Seth shifted side to side, like his shoes didn’t quite fit him. “My data’s turned off and I got lost. Apparently that building over there is in a different state?” He gestured across the narrow river at a bizarrely curved structure.

“Province.”

“What?”

“They don’t call ’em states here. They call ’em called provinces.”

“Well, I’ll be damned. The Lunatic is teaching The Architect.” Old sass habits died hard, apparently.

“That ain’t my name anymore, brotha,” snarled Dean, rising to his feet. He grabbed Seth by the neck of his shirt, dragging him in like he was angling for a punch or a headbutt. Seth closed his eyes reflexively and braced himself for the impact, but it never came. Instead, he opened his eyes to Dean’s face, inches from his.

“The next time you have a problem with me, you’re gonna tell me to my goddamn face. We clear?” growled Dean.

“Absolutely.”

“Glad that’s outta the way. So when the fuck we taking Jericho out?”

Seth’s jaw dropped. Dean was still glaring, but there was an unmistakably playful spark in his eye.

“What, you didn’t think I’d freeze my ass off in this _beautiful_ Ottawa snow just to beat you up, did you?”

“The thought crossed my mind.”

“Nah. If I was gonna hit you, I’d have done it Sunday night. I’m done with the past.”

“You _are_ more of a “right now” person.”

“Doesn’t mean I trust you. That’s gonna take a while.”

“Yeah. I figured.”

Dean picked a direction and started walking, Seth easily falling into step with him like he had so many times before. It was a while before Dean spoke again, but most of the tension had boiled off.

“I watched last night. It was bullshit.”

“I should have seen it coming.”

“Surprise me, what _won’t_ you fucking jump off?”

“Grand Canyon would probably hurt a bit,” joked Seth, and Dean cracked up. Seth’s tone grew serious as he continued, “You know, I feel worse for Finn? He blew out his entire fucking shoulder to win that title from me, and not only did Owens need help to win it, the motherfucker can’t even defend it by himself.”

Dean whistled. “Seth Rollins feels bad for someone _other_ then himself? That’s new.”

“Fuck off, Ambrose. I can be nice sometimes.” It came out more bitter then Seth intended.

“Yeah, I know.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sure Roman gave you a play by play already of all the shit I said to him, but I meant that apology for you, too. And you can have a rain check if you change your mind about hitting me.”

“Did I- ” Dean began, then shook his head and closed his mouth firmly.

“Did you what? Do something to cause this? Drive you away? Fuck no. Not a chance.” Dean was still shaking his head, so Seth prompted, “seriously, ask. I owe you answers.”

“Fuck, it feels stupid to even say it.” Dean was ahead of Seth now, shoulders hunched into his jacket like it was armour.

“As stupid as, oh, I dunno, the laundry list of things I did to you?”

“Did I ever have a shot?” Dean whirled back around to face him. He expected Seth to laugh at him, but instead Seth appeared to consider the question critically before shaking his head.

“Sorry, bro. I’m about as straight as they come. If I led you on or anything, I didn’t mean to.” Seth looked genuinely worried.

“Even if you had, wouldn’t have changed things. Didn’t figure things out till this year. I think I just… needed to hear you say it?”

“Yeah.”

“This isn’t, like, awkward for you or anything?”

“Nah, bro. What you and Reigns do with your free time is your business.”

Dean stared at him, mouth agape. “Roman told you?!”

Seth couldn’t help laughing. “No! I figured it out Sunday, when you were having that lovers quarrel at ringside.”

“We weren’t… that wasn’t…” spluttered Dean, and Seth slung an arm around him.

“Teasing, Dean. But it tipped me off that something may be going on and your face, good sir, just confirmed it for me.”

“Shit.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t rat. Long as you promise not to make out in front of me like the rest of the gross couples on the roster, we’re good.”

“Deal,” agreed Dean, shivering at the very thought of that much PDA.

They walked on in silence for a while, their breath frosting in the air ahead of them. Eventually they stopped in front of a stall labelled “Beavertails”, and Dean ordered one. He offered Seth a bite.

 “It’s not real beaver, is it?” Seth asked, suspicious.

“Nah, it’s some pastry shit with sugar. It’s pretty good.”

Seth took a bite. “God, that is some diabetes-inducing shit. Who told you about these?” he asked, passing the pastry back to Dean.

“Sami.”

“Of course it was. How are you always eating that crap and still so scrawny?”

“Guess I got lucky. I was serious, earlier. When are you going after Jericho?”

“Dunno. I don’t think they’re gonna clear me for next week.”

“Since when do you need clearance to beat someone up?”

“Roman’s not going to be pleased about this,” said Seth, a slow grin spreading across his face.

“Who said anything about telling Roman?” shot back Dean, a feral gleam in his eyes.

“I hate to admit it, but I fucking missed you.”

“Now I really _have_ heard it all.”

 

***

 

Roman stumbled into the parking lot the next Monday night after his match, every fibre in his body screaming at him. He was seriously wishing he’d carpooled today when he spotted a familiar face in the driver’s seat of a black sedan parked near the front.

“Going my way?”

“Cass! Where’s Enzo?”

“Already drove him to the hotel. Dean texted you might need a lift, so I came back.”

“Wait, where’s Dean?”

“Meeting us there.”

Cass was being uncharacteristically cagey, but Roman didn’t press the matter. “How’s Enzo doing?” he asked.

“Infertile, if you ask Twitter,” muttered Cass, his tone dangerous.

“Easy, there, big guy. I’m not asking the trolls, I’m asking you.”

“He’s… not great. He wasn’t onboard with this whole angle, but one of the bigwigs put him up to it. Said Rusev wasn’t gonna let things go easy so Enzo may as well lean into it. Didn’t count on gettin’ his balls busted in the process. It was my fault he got locked out of the change rooms but if Lana hadn’t been flirtin’ back none of this would have fuckin’ happened.”

A question suddenly occurred to Roman. “Cass, why _did_ you lock Enzo out of the change rooms?”

Cass’s face turned beet red. “Look, don’t go tellin’ no one, a’ight?”

“Promise.”

“We got a stupid fight about him hittin’ on, well, anything, and I overreacted.” Cass’s facial expression was almost comical but Roman bit back a laugh, not wishing to upset Cass even more.

“Dean and I got into a fight about going to the hospital for a suspected spinal.”

That got a smile out of Cass. “And I thought me and Zo had issues.”

They’d reached the hotel now, and Roman had to face the prospect of standing up.

“You okay, Dog?”

“Yeah. Totally fine.”

Cass shot him a _look._ “Cut the bullshit. Here.” Cass was around the other side of the car in a second, helping Roman drag himself to standing. Roman expected that to be the end of it, but Cass’s arm was firm around his shoulders, and he allowed himself to lean into the taller man gratefully.

They were walking across the lobby when Roman spotted Dean running over to meet them, a visibly intoxicated Seth following carefully behind. _Oh. That’s why Cass was being so vague._

“What the fuck happened?” Dean demanded.

“Owens. Bastard had something to prove. Nearly passed out a few times. Beat him though.”

“Atta boy, Ro,” Dean praised, ducking under his other arm to take the rest of his weight. Seth had caught up to them and punched the button for the elevator. The four of them piled in, Cass looking awkwardly at his feet. He unsure of what was going on between the trio but was firmly classifying it as “not my problem.”

“Fuck, Ambrose. Why’d you let me do all those tequila shots?”

“Hey, I was your designated driver, not your mommy. Drink some water and try not to puke, you’ll be fine.”

“What were you drinking for on a Monday?” Roman asked, blearily.

“You didn’t hear?” slurred Seth.

“Hear what?”

Dean reached out his free hand to steady Seth a bit. “Mr. Rollins here pedigreed Chris Jericho through a car.”

“Ol’ Sparkle Crotch never saw it coming!” Seth declared proudly.

“Is he gonna be okay?” Roman hissed to Dean.

“He’s a big boy. He can take care of himself. Tonight we gotta get you patched up, brotha,” Dean whispered back.

The elevator opened, finally, and spat its passengers out into a dingy hallway. Seth had the room across from it, and after a few fumbling tries he got his key to work and disappeared inside with an overly-enunciated “Goodnight.”

“You got him from here?” asked Cass quietly as they reached Roman’s room, desperate to go check on Enzo. Dean nodded, buckling a little under the increased weight as Cass let go but managing to stay upright. He somehow managed to unlock the door and maneuver Roman onto his bed.

“I’m fine, _uce_. Just need a little sleep, and I’ll be right as rain.”

“Bullshit.”

“… back hurts pretty bad.”

“There ya go. Let’s get you out of this ring gear, okay?”

Roman nodded, and Dean worked his way through the straps on the vest, his hands uncharacteristically steady as he undid each one. He ran his hands over Roman’s exposed back, watching Roman’s face and noting every wince and grimace.

“You’re banged up good. Should I try to throw together an ice bath?”

“I’m not leaving this bed.”

“Fair enough.” Dean grabbed the key and wandered out to find the ice machine.

When he returned a few minutes later, Roman had managed to remove his own boots and pants and get his hair tied back. Dean wrapped the ice bags in a towel and positioned the whole thing gingerly, Roman hissing softly as the cold hit his skin.

“You gonna stay tonight or do you need to get going?” Roman asked, weaving his fingers into the fabric of Dean’s shirt and trying not to focus on his aching muscles.

“I can stay, if you want.” Dean murmured softly. Roman’s grip on his shirt tightened, and Dean took that as a cue to kick off his sneakers and pull the covers up around them both. Roman put his head in Dean’s lap, shivering, and Dean awkwardly tried to wrap his arm around him to warm him. He gave up after a few minutes and began to fiddle with Roman’s hair instead.

“So what happened to Enzo?” asked Dean.

“Rusev kicked him in the balls because Lana saw him naked last week.”

“… you know what? I don’t want to know.”

“Tonight was a clusterfuck, _uce_ , you have no idea. Sami went _off_ on Mick Foley, and he had a point but you don’t make points like that by screaming them at your General Manager on live television. I’ll be surprised if he doesn’t get traded to Smackdown by Christmas. Owens and Jericho’s little bromance imploded and Owens tried to kill me over it, Seth’s lucky Steph still has a hard-on for him or he’d be fired for that little stunt you two pulled-”

“Woah, woah, woah, I was just the driver.”

“ _Sure_ you were. I’m not mad at you. Frankly I’m excited you two seem to be okay in the same room again.”

“Don’t trust him yet. Might never trust him. But you were right. Angry wasn’t healthy.”

“So you-”

“Talked? Yeah. And he knows, about… us. ”

“How you doing?”

“Drained. I want to be done with that part of my life. Keeps bubbling up still.”

“We’ll figure this out, _uce_. You’re not in this alone.”

“You know, _I’m_ supposed to be the one taking care of _you_ tonight.”

“You _are_ , babe,” insisted Roman. Dean swallowed, an unfamiliar flame spreading in his chest. He shifted carefully till he was lying down next to Roman.

“You should try and get some sleep, Ro.”

“Mhm. You’re probably right.” He rested his head on Dean’s chest. He could hear Dean’s heartbeat, and tonight he found the steady rhythm unusually calming. “When do you have to get on the road?” he asked, yawning.

“Not too early. Do you… want me to wake you? Before I leave?”

“Yeah. I…”

Dean waited for him to finish his sentence, but he was already asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still not done with my little slice of the WWE Universe, so this and my previous fic "The Wisest Course of Action" are getting put into a series. Hopefully some of you lovelies will come along for the ride!
> 
> For anyone who's wondering, the chapter titles of this fic are titles of songs that reminded me of the plot.


	3. I See Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seth never anticipated that an absurd surrealist podcast would nail down his love-life so succinctly, but here we were.  
> Or, Seth finally listens to Welcome To Night Vale and the September Monologues strike a nerve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter makes the most sense if you read my short Cassamore fic "Try For You" before you read this. (And if you're not listening to WTNV yet, well, sort your life out, eh?)

Seth hadn’t been purposely avoiding listening to Welcome to Night Vale. It seemed right up his alley, incurable nerd that he was. He just hadn’t got around to it, and 90 episodes was an intimidating amount to catch up on.

Lately, though, he hadn’t been sleeping well, and he’d tossed the pilot on one night as a sort of bedtime story and gotten hooked. He’d burn through three or four episodes in a night and in two weeks, he’d already listened to the first 50.

He’d become invested in The Faceless Old Woman (Who Secretly Lives In Your Home). How could he not, really? She was so comforting yet weird and just the right amount of malicious. Besides, who hadn’t loved Mara Wilson in Matilda?

So when he read the Episode 53 description and saw she was on again, he settled under the covers and prepared to enjoy himself.

It didn’t quite go as expected. Because as much as her September monologue was directed at some fictional Night Vale resident named Chad, the longer he listened the more it seemed to be aimed squarely at Actual Reality resident Seth Rollins.

 

_“Chad, I am getting away from the point. You are the point._

_Is this how you want to live your life? Shuffling from one trivial moment to the next, never letting anything add up to anything else?_

_Chad, it’s not my place to say, I know. My place is hiding behind the boring button-up shirts in your closet, my thin, gnarled fingers almost brushing your hand each time you reach for one of those milquetoast frocks on your way to another unsuccessful night **trying to find someone who will make you more than you are**._

_Chad, do you know how many flies live in your apartment?_ _I do. I know all of their names...”_

 

He’s not listening anymore, because he can’t get that phrase out of his head. Is _that_ what he’s been doing? Trying to fuck his insecurities away?

It had been frighteningly easy to rationalize his betrayal as a wise career move, as just doing what was necessary to lock in a mentor who could take him farther than anyone else in the company. Wrestling was fun, but it was a job, and chances at “promotions” were rare, and not to be taken lightly. He’d actually convinced himself it was the smartest choice, right up until his knee blew and he realised how truly disposable he was to Triple H. The regret ate at him like worms burrowing under his skin, torturing him with the endless what-if scenarios that haunted his dreams. When he came back after rehab he decided it was just easier to be the ass everyone believed he was than to try and repair the burnt bridges. It hurt, but he was used to being lonely by now.

Then Survivor Series happened, and all those emotions came tumbling out to Roman, and suddenly his brothers were back in his life and somehow he felt even guiltier than before.

Damn straight he wants to be more than he is. Because “what he is” is a turn-coat who tossed away the only two people who gave a crap about him in exchange for a fancy piece of metal and the help of a heartless bastard. _And after all that, they still forgave him._

Fuck.

Seth never anticipated that an absurd surrealist podcast would nail down his love-life so succinctly, but here we were. Sasha acted like she was too good to talk to him at work, and somehow that had made sleeping with her feel like an accomplishment. Made him feel worth something. This was never about Sasha, really. This had always been about him.

And because he could never, ever catch a break, his phone suddenly lit up.

 

**_Scotiabank: you up?_ **

 

Seth groans. He really didn’t want to deal with this right now. He just wanted to sleep.

 

**_rollins: not really in the mood.  
Scotiabank: bullshit_ **

He went, in the end. Just running through the motions, his mind far, far away, but he got the job done. If Sasha noticed something was different, she didn’t say anything.

 

He didn’t end up sleeping that night.

 

***

 

He was lying, when he acted like being put in a tag team with Roman wasn’t something he was desperately, pathetically okay with. But Roman seems so apathetic about it when Foley brings it up backstage the next night that Seth figures it’s better to just back Roman up when he points out that they both had their own stuff going on.

Foley, of course, doesn’t listen. Foley never did when he had an idea in his head. He was a bit like a toddler, in that respect.

Or like Dean, frankly.

Fuck, this wasn’t fair to Dean.

Foley had clearly made up his mind before he’d pitched the idea, and he wasn’t going to be swayed. As he happily wanders off, Roman and Seth stare after him, pointedly waiting till the camera guy leaves before eyeing each other.

Seth is the first to speak, directing his words at Roman’s Adam’s apple, unable to meet his gaze.

“Look, Roman, I’ll talk to Foley. This is ridiculous, we can’t tag, we’ve got singles shit to focus on. This is stupid. I’ll fix this.” It comes out in a breathless rush, and he bites his lip to stop the stream of babble.

Roman has the audacity to burst out laughing. Seth stares at him, shocked, as he recovers and claps his tattooed arm on Seth’s shoulder.

“Hey. C’mon. No need to be nervous. We were Tag Team Champions once. We’ll be fine.”

“Roman, this is a terrible idea.”

Roman raises his eyebrow. “Almost sounds like you don’t wanna be on a team with me, Rollins.”

Seth presses a hand over his eyes for a minute, then gestures at Roman to follow him as he ducks into an empty change room at the end of the hall.

“I’m only going to say this once, okay?” he says as soon as the door closes and he’s certain no one is eavesdropping. Roman nods. Seth’s exhausted and grumpy and he knows he’s going to regret this entire conversation but he’s not going to risk lying to Roman. Not with the scar so freshly healed.

 “I want to be on a team with you. You have no fucking idea how much I want to be on a team with you. But I don’t deserve it. I get that now. I don’t know what fever dream compelled you and Dean to forgive me, but that alone is more than I ever deserved, Roman. I’m not going to get greedy. So I’m going to talk to Foley, or Steph, or whoever I have to and get them to pull us from this match.”

There’s a long silence, Seth staring at the ground, mentally willing Roman to just drop this.

“I am really, really fed up of people telling me who I should and shouldn’t forgive or be friends with,” Roman says quietly, and there’s venom in his voice that Seth isn’t used to hearing. “First Dean tries to break up with me over his fucking self-esteem issues, and now this. I swear to God you’re fucking princesses, the pair of you.”

Seth has to consciously close his mouth, which fell open at Roman’s outburst. Roman’s never talked to him about what was going on between him and Dean, and now here he is confiding in Seth about their arguments? Tonight had started weird and apparently wasn’t getting sane again any time soon.

“Seth, what’s this about, really?”

“I can never make it up to you. What I did.” Their eyes lock, both of them shocked by the admission. Seth feels like Roman is looking straight through him, but he wills himself to endure the scrutiny. Roman may not have been the best of the trio at reading people, but he can tell this is eating Seth alive. It’s pretty obvious, if you know what you’re looking for. He sighs, pulling Seth into a crushing hug.

“So stop trying, Seth.”

“I can’t, Rome.”

“We don’t _want_ you to make it up to us. We forgave you so we could bury the past, not _bury you in_ the past.”

“But how do you just let go of something like that?” _How do I forgive myself, Roman?_

Roman releases him from the hug, holds him at arm’s length, thinking for a moment. “I dunno. I can’t speak for Dean, but I just kinda decided I would, and so I did.”

“That simple, huh?”

“Never said it was simple, Seth. But it was worth it. And Dean would agree with me on that.”

“Everyone else thinks you two are crazy to even be talking to me.”

“Since when have we ever given a fuck about what the rest of the roster thinks about us? Since when have _you_ given a fuck?”

 _Around the time I blew my knee and realised just how alone I really was._ He doesn’t say anything, but the way Roman squeezes his shoulder makes him think the Big Dog may have read his mind.

“This isn’t fair to Dean, though,” Seth points out, needing a subject change, “us tagging. It should be you and him.”

“Unless you want to call up Daniel Bryant and offer yourself as a trade for Dean, that ain’t happening any time soon. Look, if you’re really that worried about how Dean’s going to react I can call him. Right now. Ask if it’s okay. Would that make you feel better?”

“…I’d rather he found out from us first.”

Roman ruffles Seth’s hair and pulls out his phone.

“Hey, Dean? So Mick Foley and Steph are having a pissing contest…”

 

***

 

That night Seth finally lets Roman give him a lift to the hotel. He’d been avoiding riding with him, feeling like he’d lost the right. After how well they’d worked in the ring tonight, though, Seth figured it might be worth trying to cut himself a little slack. Dean calls them to rave about their match, and Roman puts him on speaker phone so Seth can hear.

 

“You two looked fucking amazing out there. When all six of you flipped out of the corner? I was fucking losing my mind.” His voice is a mix of pride and jealously. “If Big E hadn’t grabbed Seth, you two would have had that locked up. Bet The New Day never saw this coming.”

 

Seth is unlocking the door to his single when Roman clears his throat.

“Seth, what are you doing tonight?”

“Going to sleep, probably.”

“Do you wanna come hang out with us?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

 

“Us” turned out to be Enzo, Cass, and Sami Zayn, sprawled across Roman and Zayn’s room, eating pizza and watching garbage television. Cass wasn’t lying when he said Enzo was at home with ice on every part of his body; it takes Seth a moment to find Enzo under all the cold packs. He’s conscious, though, which is better than the last time Seth saw him. Enzo and Sami are yelling at the TV whenever someone makes a choice they find questionable, which is apparently every choice made on this show. Cass is alternating between fussing over Enzo and reading a battered hardback. Roman sits down next to Sami and gestures for Seth to sit with him.

“You’re going to have to explain the plot to me,” Seth whispers, and Roman’s laugh comes out as a low rumble.

“What, no one has swords or wands and you’re suddenly lost?” he teases, and Seth smacks him gently. Roman laughs again and takes pity on him, feeding him just enough info so he can parse the on-screen argument without bogging him down with details.

It was weird, after so many months by himself, to be surrounded by this many people, none of whom were currently threatening him with bodily harm. The room felt a bit uneasy with his presence, but with Roman at his side it was clear he was going to be welcomed.

He could get used to this.

 

***

 

Dean had been a bit of an ass to Dolph all night, and karma has bit him in the ass. It rankles, losing the number one contenders match and being that much farther away from getting the title back. Still, after he gets back to the hotel from the Smackdown taping, Roman won’t let him minimize that he eliminated Luke Harper and The Miz.

“So strong,” he whispers, pinning Dean’s wrists to the mattress and sinking his teeth gently into the soft spot in his shoulder. “So clever,” he moans, as Dean fumbles with Roman’s stupidly complicated belt and tugs Roman’s jeans off. “So tough,” he murmurs, tracing the scars on Dean’s chest with a gentle finger as Dean melts against his side.

Dean sighs, finally content to let Roman praise him for tonight and leave the dissection of his loss till tomorrow. He’s not tired yet, so he searches around for something to talk about.

 “Weird to see you and Seth tagging together again,” he says finally.

“It felt good. Really good. Seth almost backed out on me though.” Roman sounds worried, and that worries Dean.

“He doin’ okay?”

“I think he’s punishing himself because we didn’t.”

“Ho boy.” Dean knows a little bit about punishing yourself, and it’s not something he’d recommend.

“Yeah.”

“You think you’re gonna keep tagging?”

“Who knows. Guess we’ll see how _Roadblock_ goes.”

Roman is quiet for a while, and Dean tangles his fingers in the Samoan’s hair while he waits for him to speak again. (It’ll take him twice as long to brush out in the morning, but goddamnit if he wouldn’t trade his life savings for five minutes of Dean playing with his hair.)

“We should bring him along tomorrow night, after _Tribute to the Troops_. Be good for us, to hang out like old times.”

Dean sighs. “Too damned maternal, Ro.”

“Is that a no?”

“Nah, it ain’t a no.”

 

***

 

It’s Dean’s idea, to get involved in The New Day’s little backstage tiff with The Bullet Club.

“You hear them talkin’ shit over there about being the best team?” he asks, grabbing them both by the arms and beginning to drag them over. Seth shoots a quick look at Roman, who shrugs and mouths “eh, what the hell?”

Seth grins back and saunters up next to Kofi Kingston.

“Wait a minute, did I just hear you say you that you’re the greatest team of all time?” he asks, shocking the six bickering men into silence.

“You believe that?” drawls Dean, looking up at Roman. Seth barely avoids laughing at the reference to Roman’s catchphrase.

Roman’s eyes are dancing with mirth as he surveys the other tag teams. “Naaaaaaaaaaah,” he answers, grinning ear to ear. He starts to walk off and Dean and Seth linger for a moment before following him.

Roman waits till they’re out of earshot in the locker room before he begins to roar with laughter, and soon the three of them are a laughing mess on the bench.

“Did you see A.J.’s fucking face, man!” asks Dean, dissolving into another fit of giggles. Roman ruffles Dean’s hair and Dean leans back against him, letting Roman sling his other arm over Dean’s chest. Seth realises suddenly this is the first time he’s seen the other two show any affection for each other when they were around him since he found out they were together. It was nice. They just look so _fucking_ happy. His heart flutters hopefully as he thinks that they must really trust him to show that kind of comfortable affection with one another when he’s around.

“I should probably go find Cass and make sure we’re ready for the match,” Roman says, after he regains his composure. Dean frowns a little, but straightens so Roman can stand up.

“You should come out with us tonight,” he adds, and Seth looks up at him, shocked. He looks at Dean questioningly, and Dean shrugs.

“Can’t promise it’ll be interesting. Offer’s open, though.”

Seth can’t accept fast enough.

 

Seth and Dean watch Roman and Cass’s match on a dressing room monitor, and Seth assumes if Enzo shows up that’s where he’ll watch, too, but the realest guy in the room had other plans. Seth can’t help but grimace when Lana bounces Enzo off the steel steps, and Dean actually _growls_ when Roman is cornered. Somehow they emerge victorious, though, and Enzo may be moving slower when they get backstage but his mouth sure isn’t. At some point Cass pulls Seth aside and quietly thanks him for helping patch up Enzo last week, offering him a handshake. Seth accepts it, incredulous. Cass grins, and it’s the first time Seth has actually seen him smile in person. Cass claps Seth on the shoulder and starts fussing over Enzo, trying to convince him they should head home. Enzo whines, but concedes.

 

As they’re ordering their fifth round of drinks (beer for Roman, rum and coke for Seth, water for Dean), Seth’s phone starts buzzing. Dean eyes it quizzically, and Seth carefully pulls it out of Dean’s reach, remembering how bothered Dean can get by technology and not in the mood to go phone shopping.

Dean, instead of being annoyed with the vibrating, is just curious who’s texting Seth this late. He tries to look over Seth’s shoulder, but Seth swats him away.

“Jesus, Ambrose, you’re still as subtle as a sledgehammer.” He holds his phone out of Dean’s line of sight, and Roman takes the opportunity to snatch the phone out of his hand, holding it above Seth’s head like Seth’s a toddler while he scrolls through the convo. Seth grabs wildly for it but only succeeds in knocking over Dean’s glass of water.

“An’ you’re still a lightweight, brotha,” Dean fires back, trying his best to mop up the mess with the shitty bar napkins. Roman hands back the phone and Seth glares at them both, trying to maintain a shred of dignity.

“Well?” asks Roman, and Seth immediately goes on the defensive.

“Well what?” he snaps back, reading the message for himself. Surprise, surprise, it’s another booty call from Sasha.

“You need to bail on us to answer that?” asks Roman, and he seems sincere, which somehow makes Seth grumpier.

“Fuck no.” He needs more liquor, fast, because it looks like Roman’s about to offer him advice and he doesn’t want to be sober for that. Roman’s usually right, but Roman’s also insufferably parental about it. He orders a round of tequila shots and downs all three when the other two’s backs are turned. Roman’s whispering something to Dean, and Dean’s eyes light up.

“So how long have you and Sasha been an item, then?” asks Roman, and Seth can’t help groaning.

“Can we not right now? I’m trying to have a moment here.”

“Awe, c’mon Seth. We shared,” nags Dean, and the unspoken _there’s more consequences for us then for you if it gets out_ is received loud and clear.

Seth sighs, and figures it’s better to give in then to endure Dean’s wheedling. Bastard can be relentlessly persistent.

“We’re not an _item_. It started after Survivor Series. She pulled me into a corner at the after party and we ended up in her hotel room.”

“Do you actually like Sasha, or are you just fucking her because she’s there?” Roman’s giving him a disapproving look, and Seth rolls his eyes petulantly. The third shot of tequila is starting to feel like a mistake.

“I dunno. It’s kinda hard to tell when she won’t even talk to me.”

“Ever?”

“Outside of texting me and suggesting ‘corrections’ in bed, nothing. It’s like I don’t exist during daylight hours.”

“Rough.” Dean’s voice is compassionate, and it surprises Seth.

“Whatever, man. It’s not important. Where should we go next?” he asks, desperate for a subject change. Roman’s eyebrow raise signals that this conversation is not over, but he stands up and asks for the tab anyways.

Seth’s a little unsteady as they head to the parking lot, and he’s definitely regretting the tequila now. Dean’s driving does nothing to improve things, but once they’re in his hotel room and have his console hooked up to the TV, he has something to focus on.

Dean’s never been one for videogames, so he leans up against Roman and provides colour commentary as Seth and Roman shoot at each other. Eventually Roman brings up Sasha again, and Seth’s up 5-1 in kills this round so he humors him.

“You don’t have to sleep with her just because she asks you to.”

“I know that, dumbass.”                         

“So you like her, then.”

“Maybe?”

“It’s not a multiple choice test, Seth.”

“She’s… she’s nice.”

“That’s a good start.”

“Not to me, but to everyone else. She’s… magnetic.”

“Sethie’s got himself a crush,” chortles Dean, and he shoves Seth’s shoulder playfully, causing him to miss an easy shot on Roman and his stomach to slosh uncomfortably.

“If you’re not going to play, you don’t get to save Roman’s ass,” Seth grumbles. His stomach is refusing to settle. “Fuck,” he breathes, and bolts for the bathroom.

Roman’s behind him almost instantly, holding his hair back for him, and Dean is laughing quietly from the doorway but it’s not mean-spirited.

“Jesus, Seth,” Dean says after a while, when the vomiting doesn’t stop, “how many did you have?”

“Tequila,” Seth croaks.

“Thought this was a bit excessive for rum and coke,” concedes Roman, searching his pockets for a hair elastic. He ties Seth’s hair up and sits down heavily next to him, rubbing Seth’s back gently. Seth’s too out of it to complain about Roman babying him. His stomach’s empty by now, but the dry heaving continues.

A phone starts vibrating in the main room, and Dean wanders out to turn it off. He comes back with Seth’s phone in his hand, snickering.

“Sasha says hi,” he says, and Seth groans. Dean tries unlocking Seth’s phone and is surprised to learn Seth’s still using his dog’s name as his passcode. He snickers again, managing to find the camera app and hit the record button.

“Say cheese, Seth!”

Roman looks up, rolling his eyes. “Seriously Dean, are we thirteen?”

Seth lifts his head just enough to look at the camera and say “asshole,” mustering the strength to flip Dean off before the next wave of dry heaving hits.

 

**_rollins: sorry banks, seth’s busy right now – DA [video attached]_ **

**_Scotiabank: what the fuck? Dean?! What did you do?_ **

**_rollins: nothing a little water won’t fix g2g_ **

**_Scotiabank: DEAN!!!_ **

 

“Dean, did you actually text that to Sasha?” asks Roman, torn between laughing and scolding.

“Maaaaaaybe.”

“I swear to God when I get my hands on you…” but whatever Seth plans on doing to Dean is lost into the toilet. Eventually he sits back, leaning into Roman, gasping for breath. Dean finally decides to be useful and hands him a glass of water. Seth rinses his mouth and spits, then sips at the rest.

“Did you even eat dinner?” chides Roman, and Seth honestly can’t remember. Lately his appetite’s been all over the place. He shrugs and Roman clucks.

“Think you’re gonna hurl more or do you wanna lie down?” Dean asks. Seth thinks for a moment. His head is foggy and his stomach hurts. Lying down sounds real good right now. He begins to struggle to his feet.

“Easy there, buddy.” Roman stands and pulls him the rest of the way up. Seth starts weaving his way towards his bed, and while his back is turned Roman walks up behind Dean, putting his arms around Dean’s waist and resting his head on his shoulder. Both men watch as Seth pitches forward head first onto the bed, curling into a sad little ball.

Dean clears his throat softly and whispers “so do we just leave him here or…”

Roman shakes his head, his long hair fluttering against Dean’s cheek. “We’re at least partially responsible for tonight. Probably should stay to keep an eye on him.”

“I know, I know,” sighs Dean, grudgingly pulling off his hoodie. “Put him on the end ’case he pukes again or middle so we know if he stops breathing?”

“Middle.” _Poor kid deserves it._ Seth would probably die before he’d admit it sober, but if Seth had been describing things with Sasha honestly there was definitely no way he’d been getting enough attention; the guy was a cuddle bug if there ever was one. Dean and Roman had found _that_ out time and again when they got their little brother drunk after big wins.

“Kid better have some sweats I can steal,” huffs Dean, rummaging through Seth’s suitcase with feigned annoyance. Really, he’s thinking the same thing as Roman.

“Fuck, did he take his contacts out?” Roman asks, and Dean shrugs, holding up a relatively clean pair of grey pants.

“Goddamnit.” Roman checks the bathroom, and sure enough, the case for Seth’s contacts is empty. He grabs it and sits down next to Seth, who raises his head groggily at the dip in the mattress.

“C’mon Seth, gotta get those contacts out. You’re not waking up with a lens in the back of your eye socket on my watch.”

Seth groans and sits up, reaching for the case in Roman’s hand. His fingers land somewhere in the vicinity of the Samoan’s bicep. “Fuck.”

Roman sighs. “Fine. Think you can hold still for me?”

Seth nods, gritting his teeth.

It’s not the first time Dean’s watched Roman take Seth’s contacts out for him, but it still freaks him out every time. Hell, he used to get squeamish whenever Seth put his contacts in before matches while the three of them were sharing the mirror. He sheds his jeans and pulls on the pilfered sweats, sitting down on Seth’s other side.

“If you’re gonna puke, puke on the bleeding heart over there,” he instructs, and Seth smacks him blindly.

“Don’t count on it,” he slurs. “My bed, my rules.”

Roman snorts and lays down, stretching an arm around Seth so he can lace his fingers with Dean’s. Seth is rapidly drifting off to sleep, and he whispers something the other two almost don’t catch.

“I missed us.”

They don’t say anything, but they both shift a little closer. Seth smiles and then it all softly fades to black.

 

He wakes up with a headache that almost splits his skull in two, and hunger pains so bad he’s doubled over. Dean laughs and Roman sends him to find some plain eggs and toast, staying behind to force water and Advil into the pitiful husk. Eventually they get him back to sleep, and satisfied he’ll be fine soon enough they slip back to their room.

 

Roman checks his phone

 

**_sasha banks: what the fuck did you two do to Seth last night?_ **

 

“Dean, you’ve done it now,” he snorts, and flashes the text at Dean so he can see.

“Eh, if Banks wants a piece of this, she knows the Smackdown schedule,” Dean quips back, flopping down on their bed and pulling out his own phone to see if Corbin still wants to go for a run.

                                                           

**_roman reigns: chill, we just took him to a bar. I clearly didn’t cut him off soon enough._ **

**_sasha banks: since when are you even talking to him?_ **

**_roman reigns: like, the end of November. Which you might have known if you, oh I don’t know, actually talked to him._ **

 

Sasha sends him back a particularly pissed-off-looking emoji and Roman figures she’ll ignore his texts for a few hours and then be reasonable. That was something you just accepted when you were friends with The Boss; her temper was fiery and moods unpredictable, but she always cooled off eventually.

 

***

 

Seth doesn’t usually watch other people’s matches, unless he needs to scout someone. Charlotte and Sasha’s matches have reached such a fever pitch that the entire locker room is clustered around backstage, watching, so on a whim Seth joins them to see what the hype is about. He may be done in the ring for tonight, but he should probably stick around, just to make sure Owens doesn’t pull any funny business with the Universal Title match.

Sasha hasn’t texted him since the video Dean sent her, and Seth has privately decided that he won’t answer if she does. He hadn’t been sleeping with her, really; he’d been sleeping with her reputation. Honestly, maybe he’d been going along with this to punish himself; fuckbuddy relationships weren’t satisfying for him, although this hadn’t been the first and probably wouldn’t be the last. He’s weirdly sad about the prospect of never actually getting to know her. She may have treated him as disposable, but she is real and fierce in a way he can’t help but admire.

Bayley comes up beside him as he lurks at the edge of the crowd, a ball of nervous energy that pulls him out of his thoughts. “Don’t usually see you out here watching,” she says, smiling up at him, and he smiles back shyly.

“Guess I prefer being in the ring to watching people in the ring.”

“Watching these two never gets old for me.” Bayley’s eyes shine, her fangirl roots peeking out unabashed. “Maybe after this match someone else gets a shot at the title, though.”

“Yeah.”

He understands the hype within minutes of the bell. Sasha and Charlotte were _good_. Not “good, for _girls_ ”, just plain _amazing_. He isn’t bored the way he usually is when he watches other people in the ring. Suddenly he wishes they’d bring back mixed-gender matches; Charlotte vs The Miz is something he’d actually pay to see.

Bayley is clearly cheering for Sasha; Sasha’s her best friend. She’s trying to keep her voice at a reasonable volume but the occasional whoop still slips out. Seth finds himself getting drawn into the match, and when Charlotte begins working Sasha’s knee he almost could swear he feels his own knee twinge in sympathy. When Sasha taps out with 3 seconds to go his heart squeezes painfully. He gasps aloud when Sasha’s nose begins gushing blood, and Bayley grabs his hand, almost vibrating out of her skin with nerves. He squeezes back, grateful. Sasha’s face has taken on a monstrous quality, blood covering the entire lower half. Watching Charlotte lock in the figure 8 and force her to tap out again is heartrending. Bayley cries openly, and Seth doesn’t know if it will help but he pulls her into a hug anyways because it’s what Roman always does.

(It was the right choice.)

Eventually Bayley takes a deep breath and wipes her eyes. “I should go to the trainer’s room and check on her.”

 “You okay by yourself?” Seth asks gently. Bayley gives him a shaky smile and nods.

He slings an arm around her and walks her there anyways.

Sasha is laid out on one of the tables inside. Her nose is starting to bruise, but at least the bleeding seems to have stopped. She’s trying not to cry, but a few tears escape as the trainers manipulate her knee to check the damage. Bayley’s immediately at her side, holding her hand; Sasha’s nails dig into the skin a bit as the trainer pushes her knee too far and she squeezes down in response. Seth stands awkwardly in the doorway, feeling completely unwelcome. The assessment takes ages, but he’s relieved when Dr. Amann says it doesn’t need surgery. One of the other trainers fits her with a brace as another does some requisition paperwork for x-rays (“just in case” he adds, trying to be reassuring) and Dr. Amann goes back to ringside. Bayley helps her sit up so she can see the small TV the trainers use to monitor matches in case of injury.

On-screen, Roman is holding his own against Owens, and Seth feels a burst of something like pride in his chest. He’s powering out of everything the over-sized Canuck throws at him, and it looks like he’s going to be able to bring this home.

Then Jericho walks out.

“Are you kidding me?!” Bayley erupts, and Seth mentally echoes her sentiments.

“What the fuck are you still doing here?” asks Sasha, pissed. Seth’s about to apologize for intruding where he’s clearly not welcome when she continues, “get out there and help Roman fuck. Owens. Up.”

Seth takes off running.

 

***

 

_Roman fist bumped me. HE FIST BUMPED ME!_

It’s all he can think when he walks backstage, after power-bombing that little chickenshit together.

“You want a ride back?” Roman offers, but Seth shakes his head.

“I drove here alone, I gotta get my rental back to the hotel.”

“Cool. Should I text you the room number for the after party?”

Seth is about to say yes, but something he can’t quite verbalise changes his mind. “Actually… there’s something I think I need to take care of.” 

 “Sure thing. Good luck, alright?” Roman says, knowingly.

“Hey, Roman?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

Roman smiles in return.

 

Sasha’s still in the trainer’s room when he gets there. He sits down next to her on the bed.

“Goddamnit, Seth, I don’t want to fuck tonight.”

“Neither do I. Just think you shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“If I already sent Bayley away, why the hell should I let you stay?”

“Because I’m asking you to,” he offers simply.

For the second time tonight, his shirt becomes a handkerchief. This time, though, he doesn’t second-guess the hug.

 

She stops crying as they pull into the hotel parking lot, and Seth hoists her onto his back like she’s ten and piggybacks her to her room. Sasha’s knee hurts too much to insist this isn’t dignified. It’s late enough that most of the other guests will be asleep, anyway. She lies down on her bed, fully clothed, and he lies down next to her and wraps an arm around her waist.

 

Somehow this feels more intimate then anything they’ve done before.

 

***

 

When he gets up to piss and checks his phone in the small hours of the morning, Seth has message from Dean. No words, just a picture of a fist touching the TV as, on-screen, miniature Seth and Roman fist-bumped.

It was gonna be a long road to Triple H. But he wasn’t alone anymore.

Things were going to be okay.

 

**_Fin._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story wasn't quite done for me. Now it is. Going forward Seth's back in the gang, and if any of you have lingering resentment towards him, well. Like Sami and Enzo, you will just have to deal with it.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has come with me on the journey. Expect a little bit of a break between fics as I get some Check Please stories out of my brain and also deal with Deanee becoming kayfabe (I love those two, they're so cute, but it doesn't quite fit in the little universe I've created here.)


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